


fireflies

by renhyuck (thereisnoreality)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Photography, Rating will change, the spinoff of novo amor that no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 20:52:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19117483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereisnoreality/pseuds/renhyuck
Summary: "Do you know why I love fireflies?""Why?""Because every blink of a firefly's light tells you to 'believe'."Doyoung is a singer and Johnny speaks through his camera. The strongest collisions tend to make the most beautiful galaxies.





	fireflies

**Author's Note:**

> I am indeed attempting a chaptered fic, so we'll see how this goes given that my usual method of writing is staring a fic down until it submits to my will. The first few chapters have already been written and right now, we're tentatively looking at 13 chapters but that will almost definitely change. Updates will hopefully be fast if not sporadic. 
> 
> Do not repost my work anywhere.

Doyoung had always been under the impression that being a solo artist meant you got more creative freedom under the company. It stood to reason as well, there were less members to worry about, thus less control to exert over him a person. Ergo, Doyoung had assumed once he’d debuted, he would have had a firm hand in the creation of his music.

Honestly though, Doyoung thinks wryly, as they settle in for yet another dry meeting over his impending comeback, he was a fool to have thought so. These meetings, dubbed as ‘creative sessions’ were really nothing of the sort. It was more often than not, tired and stressed out interns, who were no doubt not being paid enough to put up with the bullshit Doyoung’s company threw at them, and Doyoung listening in a half asleep stupor.

Today is more of the same, the interns start handing over binders and pulling up powerpoint presentations chock full of ideas for Doyoung’s team to take and twist to their own benefit and Doyoung sits there, more like a charming centerpiece for the table than anything else, and rarely opens his mouth to contribute to the discussions. Not because he’s not allowed, or doesn’t want to, but that he figured out a few years ago that doing so was futile and that the company did what the company wanted and Doyoung was merely a cog in their machine. 

Doyong sighs, playing with the empty paper cup in front of, considering how much force it would take to tear the rim of the cup one handed. So far, he hadn’t succeeded and he was about twelve comeback meetings into the experiment count. 

Five years, twelve comebacks. Two more years left to go. Two more years left to prove to the rest of the entertainment industry that Doyoung was a commodity, one the public wanted and that he shouldn’t be forced to work at the same shithole front for an entertainment company for the rest of his life. Two more years left before he got out for good. 

“There’s one final idea,” an intern stutters out, brushing her bangs away from her face to look the head of Doyoung’s creative team straight in the eye - which Doyoung privately thought was very brave given that he’d been working with the terrifyingly dour Ms. Oh for five years and had yet to look at her for longer than five seconds at a time - as she hands her a black binder. Doyoung sits up interested as the intern pulls up a slide of information. “It’s a nature concept, given that winter is coming up, and Doyoung-ssi’s upcoming song is a ballad, we thought - well, _I_ thought- that it would be suitable and give an air of nostalgia to fans.”

 _Taking credit for her work_ Doyoung observes, arching an eyebrow at the intern before flicking his gaze away lest it be taken as something more than professional interest. _She’s smart_. He leans over to take the binder from Ms. Oh, politely ignoring the dangerous press of her lips as she gives up the material, and flips through the concept shots. There are beautiful shots of a glacier, icy in the middle of the sea, of snow covered mountains, of an empty city in the middle of winter. All desolate, aching pictures - all _perfect_ for his song. It’s work well done and there’s no way Ms. Oh would be able to refute the girl’s hard work nor deny her credit.

“Why weren’t we shown this at the beginning?” Ms. Oh demands, staring at the girl who meets her gaze head on, unblinkingly. 

“Because of one big problem,” the intern says, hands clasped together. “It’s-”

“It’s too expensive of a shoot,” Doyoung says, tossing the binder back on the table, his excitement curdling away. “There’s no way I shoot a music video like that, not when I haven’t had a comeback in months.” It’s said almost bitterly and Yuta shoots him a look of warning from where he’s sitting in the corner of the room, his inane bucket hat pulled down low over his eyes. Doyoung sighs and curbs in his annoyance. It’ll do no good for him to spew his frustrations on an innocent intern and an indifferent Ms. Oh. Whatever problems Doyoung has, he has to keep to himself.

“I can vouch for it,” Ms. Oh says and Doyoung stares at her in surprise. 

“What? Why?”

Ms. Oh picks up the binder, leafing to the back where a tentative budget is laid out for various filming locations, turning the page around so Doyoung can read it. “It’s well under our budget,” she says. “According to these numbers.” She glances at the intern. “You did this?”

The intern nods looking terrified and excited at the same and Doyoung wonders at her exuberance, wonders where his similar vigor from youth had gone. “I did, ma’am.”

“Hmm.” Ms. Oh stares back down at the page and Doyoung marvels at her ability to pack a world of meaning into a single syllable. “Yes. This will do.” She snaps the binder shut, startling the intern and Yuta who drops his phone in shock. Doyoung swallows down a laugh. “Don’t worry, Doyoung-ssi,” Ms. Oh says, not looking at him as she sweeps her belongings off the table. “We’re getting you this shoot.”

She snaps her fingers at the intern who follows her on the way out, hurriedly scooping all the materials into her arms, a grin creeping onto her face, elated as she exits, leaving Doyoung in silence with Yuta. 

“Well,” Yuta drawls slowly, dusting off his phone which, from what Doyoung can see, looks relatively undamaged - the lucky bastard. “That was unexpected.”

“I thought she hated me,” Doyoung says, fingering the paper cup. He tears at the rim, using both hands, just to have something to do as he contemplates what had just transpired. “Or at the very least, was highly indifferent towards me.”

“You’ve got a certain charm,” Yuta says in a deadpan tone of voice and Doyoung shoots him a glare. Yuta grins, unrepentant and gleeful, and nothing like what a proper manager should be. “Maybe she was taken in by your _looks_.”

Doyoung snorts, getting up to throw the paper cup away. Yuta follows, pulling on his long coat as they shut the door behind them, making their way back to the practice studios on the second to topmost floor of the building.

Doyoung wonders out loud to himself, softly. “I wonder why she vouched for me, it’s not like I can do anything for her.”

“Perhaps there are some people in this world that just want to see their work done well,” Yuta offers, albeit a little sarcastically. “Not everyone wants something in return, Doyoung.” 

Doyoung does laugh then, the sound echoing unnaturally off the narrow hallway. Above them a light bulb flickers and Doyoung glances up at it. Another metaphor perhaps, at how his life was slowly crumbling apart. But maybe he was being too dramatic. 

“Don’t be naive, Yuta,” Doyoung sighs, pressing the button to the elevator. “Nothing in this world comes for free.”

“What an awfully sad way at looking at things.”

Doyoung looks at Yuta, reflected in the warped mirror of the elevator door, all previous sarcasm gone from his face. “Maybe it is,” he allows, heaving a huge breath, surprised at the way the cold air-conditioned air hits his lungs, momentarily causing goosebumps to prickle along his skin despite the heavy sweater he’s wearing. “But that’s just the way the world is. The sooner you accept it, the sooner you can deal with it and move on.”

“And is that what you’re doing?” Yuta asks as they enter the elevator, sharp eyes gazing at Doyoung. “Moving on?” 

Doyoung takes a short breath. “No,” he says, tipping his head sideways and staring at their reflections, clearer on the inside of the door. “I’m not giving up quite yet.”

Yuta smiles. “Good.”

 

“We’ve found you a director,” is the first thing Ms. Oh says when Doyoung walks into the meeting room - different room, exact same layout - the next week. “He’s brilliant.”

From any other person, Doyoung would consider it an exaggeration and refuse to take their opinion into consideration until he’d formed his own thoughts, but from Ms. Oh it’s nothing short of a ringing endorsement, and it has Doyoung blinking in surprise, looking up from the materials spread out on the table. 

“What his name?” Doyoung asks, flicking through the concept shots. They’re different from last time, less full of nature and more towards old towns, warm fires - all still the image of winter, just a cosier and less harsh one than Doyoung had imagined. 

“Johnny Seo.” Ms. Oh slides a portfolio towards him and Doyoung picks it up, curious.

“That’s an English name,” he notes, flicking through the admittedly large stack of achievements and projects that Johnny Seo holds to his name. “I’m not going to be working with an English guy am I? I’m terrible at English.” He looks up already halfway into despair at Ms. Oh before realising he’s asking for sympathy from the completely wrong source and instead directing it towards Yuta, who has his nose stuck in his phone, completely unaware and uncaring of the developments surrounding his charge. Doyoung makes a note to fire him as soon as they leave the meeting. Or maybe after he forces Yuta to buy him lunch. 

“Well, lucky for you, I’m absolutely fantastic at Korean, so we’re both saved a lot of headache there,” a new voice says cheerily and both Doyoung and Ms. Oh turn to the doorway to see a man standing there, a large bag slung over his shoulder, and a bright smile affixed onto his - very handsome, the annoying part of Doyoung’s brain notes - face.

“Mr. Seo,” Ms. Oh gets up bowing and Doyoung follows a fraction of a second later. Even Yuta puts his phone down to greet the stranger. “My name is Oh Sohee, it’s a pleasure to meet you, thank you for meeting us at the company.”

Doyoung nods, barely hearing his own self introduction as his mind starts spinning dizzily at the fact that he’s certain he hadn’t heard Ms. Oh’s first name before this day. How strange.

“Please,” Seo is saying when Doyoung’s head tunes back into the conversation like a fuzzy radio suddenly going clear. “Call me Johnny, it’s much easier that way.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “Of course… Johnny.” If Johnny hears the inflection, the slight disbelief it carries, he doesn’t show it. On the other hand, Yuta shoots him a nasty look when Johnny turns around to gather his things, a warning for Doyoung. 

“So,” Johnny says brightly opening up his laptop. “I’ve been listening to your song nonstop for the last week, it’s really very good, I’m kind of obsessed.”

“You heard my song?” Doyoung asks sharply before realising what a silly question that was. Of course Johnny had, it’s not like Doyoung was new to this process. Ms. Oh’s lips tighten and Doyoung presses down on his sigh.

Johnny smiles, not at all thrown off by the question and the faint irritation that had been nagging at Doyoung’s mind all day increases. He doesn’t know what it is about Johnny Seo that seems to abruptly set him off, and so quickly too, but he does and Doyoung feels very much on the back foot while he tries to wrap his mind around it and shove it deep, deep down to be dealt with later. 

“I’ve come up with some past videos that might serve as a baseline, or at least, a faint idea of what we want the video to come across as,” Johnny moves on easily, turning the laptop so Doyung and Ms. Oh can see the clips. 

Doyoung forces himself to bite down on the retort that he doesn’t want his video to resemble _anyone’s_. He’s living on a very short timeline right now and to convince the public he’s something worth keeping, he needs more than mere _copies_. He chooses instead to focus on the actual videos, fingers clenching on his thighs, hidden by the table. 

Doyoung doesn’t fancy himself any kind of expert, or even a beginner, in the art of videography but even he can see that Johnny has a certain talent at bringing out the beauty in the most ordinary things. The camera pans over a lush field, the long grass being blown almost flat to the ground by the force of the wind before centering on a lone female figure, cut by the outline of the sky, seeming as if she were on the edge of the clip. A lot of the clips follow in the same format, repeating patterns of lonely figures, of open spaces, all seeming very sad yet very beautiful. Doyoung tries not love it. 

“Your shots are all nature based,” he says finally, looking up at Johnny who’s already gazing at him, his chin propped up on his palm. “But the pictures you have are very urban, more…” He trails off not able to find the right words. 

“It’s true, I prefer to work in natural surroundings,” Johnny agrees, drawing his laptop back to his side with a small smile shot at Ms. Oh. “But that’s just what you’ve seen, I’ve worked with plenty of idol groups for their music videos.” He goes on to list some of the top names in the industry and Doyoung can’t help but be impressed before brushing it away. Being impressed is not going to help him sell albums. 

“But I’m not an idol group,” he says finally, rationality always overtaking heart. “I’m not even an idol at this point, I’m more a ballad singer.”

“And this is perfect for you,” Ms. Oh breaks in seemingly realising that Doyoung has no intention of letting Johnny go without a firm interrogation. “It works well with your song, it’ll appeal to the masses, and it’s just in time for winter holidays. It’ll be great for stirring up nostalgia in the masses.”

“Exactly,” Johnny agrees easily. “The locations I have in mind are all in Korea, so filming won’t be any trouble, and I can promise you, you’ll be pleased with the final result.”

At that moment, a phone rings and Doyoung jerks away from Johnny’s gaze which is all too penetrating for him to feel much comfort in. 

“It’s mine,” Ms. Oh says distractedly staring down at her phone. “I’m so sorry, Seo-ssi, Doyoung-ssi, just one moment.” She bows hurriedly at Johnny, not bothering to do so at Doyoung before shutting the door behind them. Doyoung heaves the sigh he’d been holding in since that morning and picks up his phone, thumbing it open to find a single message from Jeno, a video link from Taeyong, and a couple of junk emails and tries to wile away the time flicking through useless apps. 

“So,” Johnny says, breaking the suffocating silence that had permeated the room, hanging around like a thick fog right above their heads. “You don’t like me.”

Doyoung stares at him, mildly surprised. It must be the American in Johnny - though he has no idea if Johnny _is_ actually American, or is just the unfortunate product of an experiment by over-exuberant Korean parents - that makes him speak so straightforwardly. He knows Ms. Oh would have rather died than to express any form of impropriety and often, Doyoung finds himself mirroring that sentiment. He chances a glance at Yuta who’s smirking down at his phone, eyes not moving and thumbs still, clearly listening to what Doyoung has to say next. Truly, the most useless manager to ever exist. 

Doyoung clears his throat trying to find his balance. “It’s nothing to do with you,” he says, pleased when his voice comes out steadily. “I just don’t like overconfident people, I find it’s often meant to cover up something drastic, _often_ they’re lacking in the fundamentals and that is _always_ a recipe for disaster.” Doyoung coughs, looking up at Johnny who’s still smiling, despite all of Doyoung’s words, an eyebrow raised in interest. “I’m sure your work is fantastic, though,” Doyoung says, conciliatory, because he’s sure Ms. Oh would murder him if she came back and Doyoung had offended Johnny into not working for them in the span of a couple minutes. Yuta chokes on a suppressed laugh, not even bothering to hide his glee when they both look over at him, Doyoung in murderous rage, Johnny in mild confusion. 

“How nice of you to say so,” Johnny says, sounding far too amused for Doyoung’s liking. Doyoung’s jaw tightens and Johnny sits back in his chair, grin widening. “However, I can assure you Doyoung-ssi, my fundamentals are _very_ strong.” He trails his gaze over Doyoung’s chest, cocky and sure, and when his gaze flicks back up to meet Doyoung’s eyes, it’s all Doyoung can do to keep the blush from rising up to his cheeks at the next words Johnny says, low and almost a purr. “And I can’t _wait_ to work with you.”

Ms. Oh comes back in, busy and bustling and settles down next to Doyoung, no doubt noting the tension in the room. “Well,” she says finally, after sweeping Doyoung with her sharp eyes as if expecting him to spill all that had transpired in her absence. “What do we think?”

“Oh, I’m all for it,” Johnny says brightly, sitting upright in his chair. “In fact, I can’t wait to get to work. Isn’t that right, Doyoung-ssi?”

Doyoung grits his teeth and smiles back, irritation rising when Johnny’s grin widens. “Right,” he agrees. “Can’t wait.”

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you thought, I'd like to know if I have any talent at this whole chaptering thing. 
> 
>  
> 
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